A dance
It feels like I just got home from law camp! A lot of things are stuck in my head without a voice until I write, but thankfully I brought my notebook along.
I won't do a proper entry on it yet. I'm blogging today about a book. Was just talking to Florence when I realised she was reading that same book as me at almost the same time. :)
I found the book not too fun to read. The storyline was a bit convoluted and it didn't help that the author seemed to just skip over essential parts like introducing characters properly. But one part that made the book worthwhile.
Excerpt from The Lightstep by John Dickinson
She had been dancing, here in the library, eighteen months ago. There had been no partner but the lighted candle that she held in both hands, no music but her own low humming, and no audience except Alba, lying on the settee by the window with the heels of his boots propped up on the arm.
He had lost much of his plumpness in the campaigns. His uniform no longer fitted well. His neck had been scrawny, his nose no longer just fine but sharp, and pointed straight up at the ceiling. But he had still been alive, still Alba, just as if he always would be. And she had danced before him.
She had danced, feeling both very grown up and rather mystical, because she had felt the world was changing and that the changes might yet sweep everything she had known away. One-two-three, one-two-three, she had been thinking, and turn and back and one-two-three...
'I have been waiting for you to explain what you are doing with that candle,' he had said (speaking German as he always did with her, in defiance of Mother's rules). 'Will you not oblige me?'
'I'm dancing with it.'
'I can see that. Nero fiddled while Rome burned, and now you dance while the Empire totters. But it is more usual to dance with a gentleman, if one is present. And if the gentleman is not present, or does not please you, it is usual to dance with a chair. I believe you are about to set your dress on fire.'
'Then the Empire shall totter while I burn,' Maria had said, as she turned in a figure, counted and turned again. 'But I may not dance this dance with a man, nor with a chair. It must be with a lamp or a candle. The candle should have a hood and this one does not. Do not bleat, brother. I am being careful.'
'What dance is this, if men may not dance it?'
'It is the Lightstep. And it's your fault we dance it, because you and all your friends are away, and there are too few gentlemen to go around. So the Countess said that if we could not dance with the gentlemen, we should dance with each other. And she had some of the May-dances adapted for the ballroom. This is one of them.'
'I imagine the Countess was not sorry to surround herself with beautiful young girls.'
'Of course. But for the most part we do not mind her. And we prefer to dance with her than not to dance at all. In the Lightstep, the candle is the man. And the dance is a charm to bring him back to us.'
After a turn and another figure, because he did not ask, she had said: 'I'm dancing for you.'
***
It gave me the flash. ^-^ And the part about dancing the dance as a charm is lovely. I wonder if there was an actual dance after the French Revolution, or whether this was entirely thought up by the author, in which case I would say he has good ideas but unsatisfactory execution.
*sigh*
Alaris
I won't do a proper entry on it yet. I'm blogging today about a book. Was just talking to Florence when I realised she was reading that same book as me at almost the same time. :)
I found the book not too fun to read. The storyline was a bit convoluted and it didn't help that the author seemed to just skip over essential parts like introducing characters properly. But one part that made the book worthwhile.
Excerpt from The Lightstep by John Dickinson
She had been dancing, here in the library, eighteen months ago. There had been no partner but the lighted candle that she held in both hands, no music but her own low humming, and no audience except Alba, lying on the settee by the window with the heels of his boots propped up on the arm.
He had lost much of his plumpness in the campaigns. His uniform no longer fitted well. His neck had been scrawny, his nose no longer just fine but sharp, and pointed straight up at the ceiling. But he had still been alive, still Alba, just as if he always would be. And she had danced before him.
She had danced, feeling both very grown up and rather mystical, because she had felt the world was changing and that the changes might yet sweep everything she had known away. One-two-three, one-two-three, she had been thinking, and turn and back and one-two-three...
'I have been waiting for you to explain what you are doing with that candle,' he had said (speaking German as he always did with her, in defiance of Mother's rules). 'Will you not oblige me?'
'I'm dancing with it.'
'I can see that. Nero fiddled while Rome burned, and now you dance while the Empire totters. But it is more usual to dance with a gentleman, if one is present. And if the gentleman is not present, or does not please you, it is usual to dance with a chair. I believe you are about to set your dress on fire.'
'Then the Empire shall totter while I burn,' Maria had said, as she turned in a figure, counted and turned again. 'But I may not dance this dance with a man, nor with a chair. It must be with a lamp or a candle. The candle should have a hood and this one does not. Do not bleat, brother. I am being careful.'
'What dance is this, if men may not dance it?'
'It is the Lightstep. And it's your fault we dance it, because you and all your friends are away, and there are too few gentlemen to go around. So the Countess said that if we could not dance with the gentlemen, we should dance with each other. And she had some of the May-dances adapted for the ballroom. This is one of them.'
'I imagine the Countess was not sorry to surround herself with beautiful young girls.'
'Of course. But for the most part we do not mind her. And we prefer to dance with her than not to dance at all. In the Lightstep, the candle is the man. And the dance is a charm to bring him back to us.'
After a turn and another figure, because he did not ask, she had said: 'I'm dancing for you.'
***
It gave me the flash. ^-^ And the part about dancing the dance as a charm is lovely. I wonder if there was an actual dance after the French Revolution, or whether this was entirely thought up by the author, in which case I would say he has good ideas but unsatisfactory execution.
*sigh*
Alaris
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